


Overwatch Kiss Prompts

by NiteWrighter



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mild steamy elements, Multi, Multishipping, Platonic Kisses, a bunch of these are semi-canon to my main fic continuity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29614992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiteWrighter/pseuds/NiteWrighter
Summary: Short kiss prompts for various ships that I've been writing for Valentine's day and February.
Relationships: Ana Amari/Reinhardt Wilhelm, Echo/Jesse McCree, Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Satya "Symmetra" Vaswani, Genji Shimada/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Hanzo Shimada/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, Jesse McCree/Sombra | Olivia Colomar, Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes/Mei-Ling Zhou, Sombra | Olivia Colomar/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	1. Prompt: Anahardt, Height Difference Kiss

“You’ve been at this for hours,” Reinhardt’s voice is husky behind her. Ana pivots away from Athena’s projected map and a smattering of CCTV clips in multiple windows across the main monitor. The glow of the monitor makes Ana’s hair look moon-white as she looks at him, it’s loose and well past her shoulders, still slightly wavy from the braid she’s pulled it out of.

“Well Reyes was never in the habit of making my job easy for me,” Ana’s voice is short to hide her own exhaustion.

“Tell me how to help,” Reinhardt has to stoop to enter the room.

“You help best with the team, Reinhardt, we both know that,” Ana turns back toward the monitor.

“But I want to help _you_ ,” Reinhardt’s usually heavy footsteps are lighter, slower as he moves toward her, “When you and Jack returned, it was a shock, but I can’t tell you how much it meant to me to know that you’re alive. To see you _here_. But ever since you came here, the two of you…” his voice trails off, 

“Reyes is our mess,” Ana’s shoulders slump slightly, “I can’t ask you and Torbjörn to…” 

“We stopped the Omnic Crisis together,” Reinhardt’s voice is stiff, “And if there’s any threat bigger than the Omnic crisis, it’s one of us.” He puts a massive hand on her shoulder, “Don’t shut me out on this, Ana,” he squeezes her shoulder, gently.

“This is about more than Reyes, isn’t it?” Ana says softly. 

“It can just be about Reyes if you need,” there’s some amusement in his voice.

“So when you say you want to help–”

“I do want to help…but… I’m also here in any other capacity. And I want to be there for you, in _every_ capacity,” he steps up alongside her, studying her profile as she stares at the monitor, “You’ve only just come back–don’t be a ghost.”

She’s silent for a few seconds. Her breath shudders and she feels his hand lighten on her shoulder with concern. “Ana…?”

She sighs before she finally looks up at him. She brings a hand up and strokes the side of his face. “I don’t know if I know how to be a whole person anymore, Reinhardt,” she said softly.

“We all lose parts of ourselves,” Reinhardt guides her hand to under his scarred eye, “I…” he glanced down, “I don’t know what wholeness looks like for you, but I do know that… that no one heals alone.”

Ana can feel her eye watering, but she huffs to offset tears that she does not have the energy to face right now. “Where did you get that one?”

“I was reading a lot of self-help books after retirement,” Reinhardt smiles, glancing off, “Though clearly not all of them took if I’m here.”

“Clearly,” Ana smiles. She brushes her thumb across the scar below his eye before standing on her tiptoes and kissing him on the corner of his mouth. He’s perfectly still as she draws back slightly, the weight of the action hitting her.

“I–um…” She blinks a few times, “I’m probably not thinking straight–staring at this screen so long…” she trails off as Reinhardt brings a thumb under her chin. He doesn’t kiss her lips at first, first a kiss on the forehead, then the cheekbone, then just under her jawline, his whiskers tickling her neck. She drapes her arms around his shoulders to pull him in toward her, to hang onto him for a few more seconds as she kisses his mouth, the warmth of physical human contact now a buzzing sting for how long she has pushed it out of her mind. Reinhardt trails a hand down her silver hair as he pulls away. 

“You haven’t missed a step, have you?” she tries to play it off a little bit, tries to keep some levity in her voice now that the weight of her choices for so long is bearing down on her, but she can’t keep a snarky smile with a quivering lip.

“I’ve missed _you_ , Captain,” he takes her hand in his and gently kisses her knuckles.

“We’re a couple of old fools,” she says softly.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Reinhardt replies.


	2. Prompt: Symmarah, Long Kiss

Satya flaked some sugar crystals off of the rim of her blue mocktail with her fingernail. It was a tropical confection, whose sweetness was offset by basil and cucumber. She wasn’t terribly attached to it, but it at least kept men from repeatedly offering to buy her a drink, and it was pleasing to look at. That and the other view. She looked out over the balcony across the glittering buildings of Dubai. Vishkar had taken a lot of notes on design from Dubai’s glamorous high-rises, high tech and luxury, images they were all too eager to co-opt to make their visions of order go down easier for the communities they took advantage of. Satya couldn’t help feeling a little unmoored now that she was out of it, and yet at the same time, there was a clear _reality_ to what she was looking at that gave her more comfort than Vishkar ever could. 

The mission was going smoothly. The plan was that Satya would enter the Gala, set up a teleporter in the bathroom, then Genji would enter the building through the teleporter and steal the Axiom corporation’s highly illegal attempt at an omnicell replica before it could be sold to Talon… by crawling through those filthy, filthy vents. Simple snatch and grab. Satya’s shoulders bunched up in a shudder just thinking about all the dust and dirt sticking to the metal with the moisture of people’s exhalations the ninja was crawling through. Back on the watchpoint she was more in her element… as strange as it was to think that, now. She liked controlling the environment, and she didn’t feel very in control of _this_ environment. In this mission, she felt more like a glorified teleporter in a fancy dress. Of course, she knew they should hope that all missions go as smoothly as this one, but still, the frustration of waiting was starting to get to her. 

She gave a glance back to the crowd just inside the glass doors leading into ballroom. In theory, this was Satya’s crowd, though if you asked her, _no_ crowd was her crowd. She didn’t like crowds. She looked down at her one-shouldered, peacock blue gown and fidgeted her leg in and out of the thigh slit. Her hair was woven into a turquoise and pearl-studded braid snaking over her shoulder, and she sported an elegant gold nose ring. She felt a little silly–yes her Architech credentials were what gave Overwatch an ‘in’ to this gala and thus the very dangerous tech being passed The industrial air conditioning of the building still felt cool on her skin as the gentle breeze of the balcony’s elevation and the hot climes of the city puffed on her, warm as breath. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, the lights of the city still blooming on the inside of her eyelids, rolling her fingers along the stem of her cocktail glass. 

“Pretty stuffy in there, huh?” an easygoing, vaguely Arabic-accented voice piped up from a few steps away and Satya’s eyes flicked open. Her head jerked in the direction of the sound of the voice to see Pharah leaning against the balcony guardrail.

“Fareeha?” Symmetra’s voice was low. Pharah was dressed in a sleekly fitted navy blue tuxedo with satin lapels, her hair swept up in a high ponytail with those same gold beaded locks clacking against each other at her temples as she tilted her head.

“Hey, Satya,” she said it so easily as she casually pushed off the guardrail, like her voice didn’t make Satya’s heart pound against her ribs.

“I-I wasn’t going to set up another teleporter until I got the signal from Genji,” Satya stammered out, blinking, her eyes flicking up and down Pharah’s outfit, “How did you get in?”

“Technically, I didn’t go through the building. Get this: There’s virtually no security on the helipad,” Pharah said incredulously, putting one hand on her hip with a lopsided smile, “I know Helix had its problems, but that’s just disgraceful.”

“Am I supposed to believe you just… swooped down and were wearing a freshly-pressed tux beneath your Raptora armor?”

Pharah gave her a tight-lipped conspiratorial grin and a short waggle of her dark eyebrows as she stepped toward Satya, and Satya felt her face burning. “You’re ridiculous, sometimes,” said Satya.

“Well if it meant being with you while you’re looking like this…” said Pharah, her voice trailing off as she gently lifted Satya’s braid from her shoulder and let it slip over her palm with its own weight.

“Weren’t you supposed to be patrolling the airspace with Echo?” said Satya, smoothing the delicately jointed fingers of her prosthetic hand down Pharah’s lapel.

“We’re less likely to be picked up as an aerial disturbance if there’s just one of us in the air,” said Pharah with a lazy shrug, “I didn’t want to compromise the mission.”

“Oh, we can’t have the mission be _compromised_ , perish the thought!” said Satya with mock distress in her voice.

“And of course, I had to rescue you,” said Pharah,

“Oh, this is a rescue?” said Satya, arching an eyebrow.

Pharah ran her thumb along the sharp angle of Satya’s jawline before letting her fingers uncurl along the side of Satya’s face, her fingernails only grazing the silky surface of Satya’s hair, with a steadiness and precision you wouldn’t expect from someone who regularly lugs around a rocket launcher, and yet could only be from someone like her. Pharah leaned in close but paused, her nose barely touching Satya’s.

“If you want,” there was that easiness in her voice again, and something about it got under Satya’s skin, a prickling of ‘oh how _dare_ you’ that manifested as a frustrated giddiness. Satya just scoffed, setting the before closing the the distance between them, bringing her mouth over Pharah’s.

Pharah made a short ‘mm’ sound on contact, and Satya wasn’t sure if it was the suddenness of her kiss or if it was the taste of that ridiculous blue mocktail on her tongue. Pharah’s hand cupped to the side of her face now, and her other arm wound around Satya’s lower back. She could smell the ghost of raptora fuel on her, mingling alongside Pharah’s cypress-and-amber perfume. Satya let her bare leg snake out of the slit in her dress to smooth down the pantleg of Pharah’s tuxedo, her own years in dance lending her plenty of balance with Pharah supporting her as they kissed, slow and deep. It was a distraction she was happy to let occupy all corners of her mind and senses, given how long she had been stuck waiting and on edge, she welcomed the simultaneous sensations of being elevated and submerged. Everything was Fareeha and it slowed all her movements like water.

Pharah pulled back slightly, “Satya–” she started, but her voice was husky and that just made Satya kiss her again and she instinctively met her.

Satya half remembered herself and managed to make a questioning, “Mm-hmm?” with their mouths closed over each other. Satya’s hands brushed down the front of Pharah’s jacket before trailing around her waist as she pressed herself against Pharah’s body even through the layers of the tuxedo, Satya could make out the solidity of Pharah’s powerful muscles as she supported her weight.

“I… was–just…” Pharah’s words were broken between kisses before Satya finally seemed to get enough of a hold of herself to pull back, one arm drape around Pharah’s shoulders and the other still at her waist. They were both breathless. Pharah tucked the beaded hair at her temple back before clearing her throat, “I.. just realized the last time we got dressed up like this was…”

“Oasis,” Satya finished the thought and Pharah’s hand brushed down her side. 

“Mm,” Pharah trailed the back of her knuckles down Satya’s braid.

“This is is a bit of a reversal, isn’t it?” said Satya with a slight smile, “Last time was a date that turned into a mission, this time is a mission that turns into…”

“Hey, we’re still on the clock,” said Pharah with a playful chin chuck. 

“I assure you, the mission is going completely according to pla–” Satya moved to gesture airily but ended up knocking her mocktail off over the edge of the guardrail and she flinched to alertness with a sharp gasp. Both Satya and Pharah leaned over the guardrail and watched as the cocktail glass and its virgin blue contents tumbled and spiraled down, down, down, dozens of stories until distance made it shrink to nothingness. They were too high up to hear it shattering against the streets of Dubai below. Satya’s hands were cupped over her mouth in horror. A few beats of shocked silence passed.

“So… what was that about not compromising the mission?” said Pharah with a sly grin.

“Oh you–!” Satya smacked a palm against Pharah’s arm in scolding and Pharah just burst out laughing before pulling Satya into another kiss-littered embrace.


	3. Prompt: Gency, Kiss while sitting on your S/O's lap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Genji Is Basically A Cat

“Let me guess…” Mercy readjusted her glasses slightly, a wry grin tugging at one corner of her mouth, “You want attention?”

“Me?” Genji was splayed across her, his legs lazily crossed over the ergonomic armrests of her swivel chair, “That’s ridiculous–I don’t know where you got that idea.”

Mercy snorted and reached an arm over him to reach her monitor’s mouse. “I’m almost done.”

“Oh by all means, take your time, I’m quite comfortable,” said Genji, stretching his arms and interlacing his fingers behind his head as Mercy snickered. A pause passed between them, a sort of mutual suspension of the joke as Mercy reached over him to tap out short responses to her correspondence and some notes and memos from their messages. 

“…for the record, I got dinner,” said Genji, “I wouldn’t be annoying you if I hadn’t gotten dinner.”

“My gyro place?” said Mercy.

“With extra tzatziki,” said Genji.

“You know the way to a girl’s heart,” Mercy pecked a kiss on Genji’s faceplate with a slight chuckle before turning her attention back to the monitor.

“I’m not squishing your legs, am I?” said Genji.

Mercy snickered. “No.”

“Are you sure? If you’re not careful I might just get used to this,” said Genji.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Mercy, typing away at her monitor with a smirk.

“I love you,” the words tumbled out of him warmly, clumsily. As easy and automatic as a patellar reflex.

“I know,” Mercy replied with a cool faux-smugness as she typed. A few seconds passed and she glanced over at him, her shoulders slumping and a snarky lopsided smile on her face. “Love you too,” she said, gently chucking him on the chin of his faceplate. 


	4. Prompt: Spiderbyte, Kiss While Hiding

The barrel of Widowmaker’s rifle poked about a hand’s length out the window. She was in a gray, dark, hotel room, high above the city streets, with a clear vantage point down at the front steps of the courthouse below. The only light in the room came from from the window, and the purple glow of a small translocator on the floor a few steps away. Widowmaker stared down her scope, and didn’t react as Sombra appeared in a flash of purple pixels.

“Got it!” Sombra flicked a data cube into existence on the tips of her fingers before making it dissolve into light with another flourish as she stepped over and leaned against the wall next to Widowmaker’s window, an easy grin on her face. “It’s still another 40 minutes until the next recess, y’know.”

“Mm,” Widowmaker kept her eyes fixed through the scope.

“Sssooo you’re just gonna stay like that for the next 40 minutes,” said Sombra, folding her arms and lazily waving a pink screen into existence.

Widowmaker brought a finger to her recon visor and its lenses clicked into position over her eyes. “Unless the target takes an alternate exit,” she murmured, tilting her head, the thermal imaging of her visor making the bodies inside the building show up as blooms of red, but then, she flinched at movement on the steps of the courthouse, an omnic security guard stepping out and surveying the area.

“ _Merde–_ ” the word left Widowmaker in a huff and with one press of her thumb, her rifle contracted back into automatic mode. There was an end table pushed up against the wall on the side of the window opposite Sombra, so Widowmaker sidestepped away from the window, planting one hand on the wall next to Sombra’s head in the action and moving close to her, her own head phasing through Sombra’s screen.

“…if you wanted attention, you could have just said so,” said Sombra, arching an eyebrow.

“Shh,” Widowmaker’s eyes were narrowed, fixed on the guard below. The guard strolled about, mechanical hands on his hips—Widowmaker wondered if the affectation was a conscious aping of human security guards before realizing she was close enough to Sombra to smell her. There were the top notes of Sombra’s soap, blackberries and coconut water and some very faint florals, but below that was metal, copper, and ozone from her neural implants and translocator. Widowmaker tried not to look back at her, tried to stay focused out the window, watching as the guard milled around. She heard a gentle chuckle from Sombra and her eyes instinctively flicked back to her.

“Your pupils are dilated,” said Sombra, “Like a cat’s.”

Widowmaker set her jaw and turned her head to look at Sombra. Sombra had that smug little ‘I know more than you’ smile of hers on, as always, but the lower lids of her eyes were raised a bit in a gleeful half-squint as Widowmaker made eye contact with her. 

“Guess it’s hunting instincts, huh–?” Sombra’s voice was half teasing but trailed off as Widowmaker pressed her lips against hers. It was a slightly crooked kiss, Widowmaker tilting her head and craning her neck to make that contact, but Sombra brought a hand up, the nails of her hacking hand still extended, pressing slightly into the soft skin of Widowmaker’s jawline to prolong the kiss. Widowmaker broke away, her breath cool on Sombra’s nose and mouth. A silence hung in the air between them for nearly a minute. 

“What was that?” said Sombra, suppressing a snicker in her voice, when Widowmaker was finally able to bring her eyes back out the window again.

“That was to shut you up,” muttered Widowmaker, seeing that the security guard was gone and moving away from Sombra to reposition her rifle out the window again.

“Seems counterintuitive, don’t you think?” said Sombra, “I’d say that’s more incentivizing to speak than anything.”

Widowmaker scoffed.


	5. Prompt: McHanzo, Shy Kiss

Hanzo’s eyes tracked the oval-shaped lights as they danced over the walls and the tarp-covered shipping containers of the hangar, before his line of sight trailed back to their source, a slowly rotating mirror ball suspended over the space. A string of Christmas lights glowed in pink, green, orange, and blue along the walls.

“So… uh, what do you think?” Hanzo’s head swiveled in the direction of a familiar voice to see McCree in a salmon-colored dress shirt with a tiny white paisley pattern, the sleeves rolled over his elbows in that perfect, painstaking-yet-casual way, and a turquoise and silver bolo tie gleaming at his throat. His hands were pocketed and he mindlessly thumbed at his suspenders.

“Jesse,” his eyes narrowed skeptically, “What is this?”

“You know what today is?” Jesse put his hands on his hips.

Hanzo thought for a few seconds. “Not my birthday. And _your_ birthday’s in June…” he trailed off.

“Hint: We’re in the hangar,” said McCree, grinning.

“What does the hangar have to do with–” Hanzo caught himself and blinked, and then a scoffing chuckle fell out of him, “You… cannot be serious.”

“It’s the night we met!” McCree threw his hands up.

“…you mean the night I broke onto the watchpoint, knocked out Orisa, you accused me of being here to kill Genji, attacked me, I punched you in the face, and then got tranquilized by Ana and established myself as the most hated person on the Watchpoint,” said Hanzo.

“…Surprise?” McCree’s hands were still up and he did a weak little ‘jazz hands’ gesture, “One year…!”

Hanzo snorted. “It’s… certainly been a year, hasn’t it?” but then he heard the faint jingle of spurs and saw McCree was closing the distance between them. McCree casually pulled his comm from his pocket and tapped at it, gradually increasing the volume of the music in the hangar–not an overwhelming volume, but enough to fill the air. It distorted a little in the cavernous space, but he recognized the tune. McCree extended a hand to him. “If you’re not up for it, we can just head back to the apartment and put a movie on—”

Hanzo took his hand and pulled McCree up against him. McCree rocked slightly to regain his footing as Hanzo brought an arm around his waist. “I like this,” Hanzo’s voice was steady as they let themselves step and pivot to a more open area beneath the mirror ball.

“Admittedly I thought you bein’ a slow dancer was a bit of a stretch,” said McCree, glancing off, “And between missions, this was the fastest I could scratch together…” 

“It’s wonderful.” Hanzo’s voice took on that quality that was somehow both warm and tense, the intensity of allowing himself to feel things like the prickling shock of like plunging into a hot spring after rolling around in snow.

McCree glanced down to see Hanzo’s eyes fixed up at him, that sharply discerning look softening as the lights passed over his face. “Would you believe they just had a dang disco ball in a storage closet?”

“I can,” said Hanzo with a slight shrug, “To be honest, once there’s time travel and talking gorillas involved…”

“All bets are off,” said McCree with a smug smile as they swayed to the music. 

Hanzo’s fingers curled around the side of his neck, weaving into his tousled brown hair. Hanzo craned his own neck up, moving his mouth towards McCree’s.

“Happy Hangar-versary,” said McCree, and Hanzo stopped with a huffing chuckle.

“We are not calling it that.”

“Breaking-and-enter-versary?” 

Hanzo just scoffed and took ahold of McCree’s collar, forcing him to bring his face down so he could kiss him. He could feel the corners of McCree’s mouth pull up in a smile as they kissed. They kept swaying in time to the music.


	6. Prompt: McSombra, Morning Kiss

She seems so small in the crook of his arm that he can almost forget what an asshole she can be when she’s awake, the way her words can fill a room, fill his head, turn his world upside-down. The reason computer viruses are called viruses, she’s explained to him, is because organic viruses themselves are little more than lines of code, genetic code, but code, designed to take root and rewrite and destroy the pre-existing functions of a system. He can feel a small portion of her own logic has wormed its way into his own mind–he was always the wary sort, but her paranoia and the solid intelligence it stems from is another thing entirely. And she’s one more voice in his head–not Reyes calling him an ingrate when he fucks up, but questioning, questioning, _questioning_ goddamn _everything_. It’s exhausting, but it’s gotten him out of binds. And gotten him into binds. That’s just how she’s like.

Her nostrils flare and her brow furrows slightly and he wonders what she dreams about. She’s scared, he knows that. He knows she’s a lot more scared than she’s willing to let on–she can’t let on how scared she is, she’s built up too much of herself, clawed through too much shit to let the fear consume her now, but there _is_ a fear in her that scares him, because _so much_ of it is beyond his ken and yet none of it is unfounded. He wonders if he knows the the things she knows, if he would just shut down. He studies her expressions as she sleeps. a tug at the corner of her mouth, the twitch of an inner corner of one eyebrow, the brightness of the neural implants scoring her scalp, glowing and fading with her breath.

He’s not sure if it’s that same wariness, that same fear that makes her eyes open. There’s an easiness in the motion, the slow sliding of her eyelids paired with another, calmer, soft inhale through the nostrils. Her eyes are half-lidded at him, and he can’t seem to summon the sleepiness back to his own expression to offset the sharpness of his own eye contact with her.

“What are _you_ staring at?” Of course she manages to be a little shit first thing in the morning.

“You,” his answer is unconscious, automatic, he likes annoying her with obvious answers, “You’re nice to look at.”

“I know,” she says, closing her eyes again with a smug smirk before snuggling against his shoulder.

A short breath puffs out of him. She runs warmer than most on account of her modifications, and he can feel the gossamer layer of semi-dried sweat that envelops his skin just from having her in his arms all night. He stares at the ceiling for a few seconds.

“This is nice,” he says quietly.

“Mm-hmm,” she nuzzles at the point where his neck meets his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t mind doing this for a while…” he muses, “Not having the ol’ internal clock eternally fucked by orca-lag.”

“…is this going to turn into another _‘Sombra, I don’t want to watch you die for that highfalutin eye conspiracy of yours, run away with me and I’ll dick you down forever’_ talks?’”

“No,” his voice is thick with defensiveness.

“Yes it is.”

“When _the hell_ have I ever used the words, ‘Dick down?’” 

“I love how you can’t argue with the ‘highfalutin’ part.”

He scoffs and brings his arm in, pulling her tight against his side, still staring at the ceiling. 

“So you _are_ thinking about it,” she says softly, trailing her fingers over his collarbone.

“Hard not to.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s what scares me.” 

She hefts her upper torso up onto his chest, forcing a short breath out of him with the weight. Those purple eyes are staring into him.

“I’m just saying, you… You don’t… _have_ to do this,” he says, unable to make eye contact.

She trails a hand down the side of his face before kissing him, gentle, then deep, the taste of her tongue sour from sleep and lovemaking. “I don’t think I’d be the person you love if I stopped now,” she says as she pulls away.

A new alertness floods into him. “I don’t love you because you’re on a gotdang death drive to bring these eye fuckers down!” he huffs, “And for the record, I’m sick of you acting like people are idiots for giving a shit about you! You’re _worth_ giving a shit about, Olivia!”

He can feel every muscle in her body tense against him at the use of her real name. “I–” he sighs, “Look–”

“…I don’t think I’m going to die going against them,” Sombra says quietly.

“What?” McCree’s mouth twists with confusion, “But you’re always goin’ on about how dangerous these guys are, and how they can come at any time, and….”

“They _are_ dangerous,” Sombra says quietly, “But…” she smooths his hair back tentatively, “I’ve got you.”

He blinks a few times. “…thought you said I was a liability.”

“You _are_ a liability,” Sombra isn’t making eye contact, “You just… also… happen to be a contingency.”

“ _I’m_ a contingency?” There’s a chuckle in his voice.

“Don’t get smug about it,” she says, laying her cheek against his chest, “I just know what you can do. I know you can watch my back. I know you can survive when shit hits the fan.” 

“…can the contingency ask you to… _not_ do the scary pursuit of the evil murder-y eye guys so you can run away together and he can dick you down forever?” 

She lifts her head to give him a very weary look.

“Worth a shot,” McCree manages to shrug with her weight on his chest.

“Don’t say ‘dick down,” says Sombra, laying her head down and closing her eyes again.

“ _You_ said ‘dick down’ first,” mutters McCree, wrapping his arms around her.


	7. McEcho: "Back From the Dead" Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Ending to "Reunion" a go-go!

The thought occurs to Echo, as she comes back into consciousness, that she doesn’t know the sensation of breathing. She has seen coughs and sighs and panting and wheezing laughs, but she has no lungs to know what it feels like. She can’t breathe, but therefore she can’t suffocate, can’t drown–that’s good, right? That’s a strength. As her optical sensors come online, she finds herself staring into a familiar, grizzled face.

“Jesse,” his name thrums out of her, not a breath, but recognition, reaction. 

His expression seems suspended between two states of emotional reaction in her memory banks. Confusion, like what he’s looking at might not be real, and affection, deep and warm and at a depth that she’s not sure she will ever understand. He brings a hand up to the corner of her jaw–can she call it a jaw if she can’t really move it? But it’s sun-warmed steel. That’s not his hand. It wasn’t his hand when she went under. How long was she out?

“Jesse–?” his name comes out of her as a question, but she feels the warmth of him phasing through the hologran of her mouth. Gentle. Warm. He can feel her lips like you can feel a storm prickling along the hair on your arm. Her chemoreceptor processors pick up sweat and adrenaline. What has he just gone through? But all she can do is curl her hand around his shoulder as he presses his forehead against hers, phasing _through_ hers, before he can finally bring himself to pull away.

“Uh–” a short laugh escapes him as he itches between his hat and the back of his neck, “Hey… I…. uh… I missed you.”

She’s forced to recalibrate the entire expressive algorithm for her facial hologram and wonders, briefly, if this is what stuffing back a sob might feel like. “Hey, cowboy,” her voice is thick with emotion, that same throaty joy Dr. Liao would talk with when Echo would get something right or say something that she hadn’t expected, is it hers? Or Dr. Liao’s? No, she knew Dr. Liao’s mind–this isn’t her. She brushes her fingers along his jawline. To her, virtually no time has passed since she was put offline, but the words ring true all the same.

“I missed you, too.”


	8. Prompt: Torbjörn & Brigitte, "I almost lost you" kiss

She grunts slightly in bed and her eyes open blearily. She smacks her lips, that dry, sour, ‘Unconscious too long’ taste in her mouth contorting her features. She has Ingrid’s mouth, and that same distance between the inner corners of her eyebrows, but she gets her ruddier hair color and freckled complexion from her grandfather on Torb’s side of the family. She opens her eyes, an amber-bronze shade of brown, like his own, and blinks a few times, a soft groan in the back of her throat as she gets her bearings on the dropship around them.

“Hey Papa,” her smile is sleepy from the painkillers, “…guess the shield couldn’t take it, huh?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Torbjörn’s voice is short as he puts a hand over hers.

“The mission…?” she started.

“Tracer got through,” Torbjörn was staring at the bandages on the knuckles of her shield hand, “We’re all… mostly back safe. You… did well.”

“Could’ve done better–” Brigitte started but Torbjörn leaned forward, cupping his one good hand gently against the bandaged side of her head and pressing his lips to her temple. His beard tickled the whole side of her face, but she squeezed her eyes shut, taking in the smell of smoke, mint, and sandalwood that she’s known since she was small. She slumps against the pillow of the emergency stretcher a little bit as he settles back in his seat next to the stretcher. 

Torbjörn sighed. “This is what I get for letting Reinhardt tell you all those stories…” he muttered.

A soft huff comes out of Brigitte. “You know… I didn’t start following Reinhardt around because I wanted to be like him,” she smiles, “I started following him because I wanted to be like you.”

Torbjörn blinked a few times.

“You were always my favorite part of his stories,” said Brigitte.

Torbjörn scoffed and smiled at her. “You’d think we’d know better…”

“Engineers, right?” Brigitte eases her hand over his, “We don’t do stuff unless it’s worth doing.”

Reinhardt squeezes her hand a little. “Get some rest,” he says quietly.


	9. Prompt: Pre-Fall Gency, Kiss in a Dream

The fluorescent lights of the lab made all time meaningless. Mercy’s eyelids were drooping and her chin dug heavy into her palm as she stared at the microscope projection on her screen. The dance of biotics through the cell culture displayed on the screen was almost hypnotic, like fireflies drifting in a pink twilight.

“…so… what are we looking for, again?” Genji was slumped back in a swivel chair next to her, one leg crossed over his knee at the ankle and his other foot pushing off against the floor to send the chair into a slow and lazy spin, “And I know last time I asked you said ‘anomalies’ but… what does that look like?”

Mercy blinked a few times to pull herself out of the haze of staring at a screen so long, “Well… the parameters of the experiment were initially that if 80% of the new prototype biotic sample maintained function and structural integrity over the course of four hours, we could move to the next phase of testing.”

“…and we’ve been here for..” Genji glanced back at the clock, “7 hours.”

“Well we weren’t expecting the prototype to be this successful! It’s…” Mercy yawned, “Unprecedented,” she pushed up her glasses to rub at her eyes, “And quite remarkable.”

“Mm,” Genji nodded, “Yes, definitely…” he yawned too, then glanced back at the screen where the yellow lights slowly bobbed against a pink background, “Definitely thrilling.”

Mercy snickered. “If you want to escape, I won’t stop you.”

“Are you kidding? With Blackwatch benched, this is the closest thing I’ll get to a stakeout for the foreseeable future.”

Mercy huffed. “I know at this point we should just leave it for the lab cam but at the same time…” she glanced back at the screen, “I’m terrified if I leave, something will _happen_. Is that silly?”

“I get it,” Genji shrugged, “Only so much you can leave to machines.”

“ _Biotics_ are machines,” said Mercy, pointing at the screen, “If I leave the machine to watch the machines, they’ll start talking to each other and plot against me.”

“As vengeance for all being jammed into that staff, I imagine,” he mused.

“Exactly!”

“This all sounds very reasonable and not at all like someone becoming unhinged at 1 AM,” said Genji.

“I’m a scientist,” said Mercy, folding her arms.

“Oh but of course,” said Genji as they both turned back to the screen. A few minutes of quiet watching passed—time that on other nights might be filled with conversation, but tonight the marathon exhaustion of waiting and observation had rendered them both quiet. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, more like the quiet comfort two companions could share on a long car ride, or reading in the same room. Genji spun around in his chair, scrolled through his comm’s screen to see if there were any updates regarding Blackwatch’s suspension, found there were still none, checked his messages to find the usual deafening silence from Reye, a few dangerously innocuous-sounding questions from Moira, and another message from McCree saying Reyes was sending him on another ‘vacation’ and he’d be out of contact for another few days. Mercy’s eyes were fixed on the screen, only occasionally glancing back at her own tablet to take notes, or even checking her own correspondence with other Overwatch scientists, but all the same, the minutes were ticking by and the mental exhaustion was sinking in.

“…I’m willing stay up another half hour and then leave them to plot against you,” said Genji.

“That would probably be the wise thing at this point…” said Mercy.

“Tell you what, I make a quick trip to the vending machine in the break room and grab some pretzels if you promise we call it in 30?”

“I love that you assume you need to bribe me with snacks to get me to go to bed,” said Mercy.

“Am I wrong?” Genji tilted his head.

Mercy scoffed and smiled as Genji rose from his seat.

“Oh–just get the plain ones–I can’t type with all the dust on the garlic parmesan ones,” said Mercy, as Genji headed toward the door of the lab.

“Only the highest professional standards for Doctor Ziegler!” Genji spoke over his shoulder with a wave.

Mercy smiled as she watched him walk out, her tired eyes trailing down the wires trailing down from the back of his head, partially obscuring the massive blackwatch logo of his hoodie, swaying just above his hips. Even with so much of his body composed of metal and wires, even with the exhaustion of the hour bearing down on them, his movements seemed so smooth and effortless.

_We still really should do something about those wires, though,_ she thought as she pivoted her chair back toward the screen, _Someone could grab them in a fight._

Her train of thought seemed to veer hard with her own sleepiness, then.

_I could grab them._

_Would it hurt him if I did that?_

_I should really take another look at the Blackwatch cyberneticists’ schematics—_

And then, another veer of that train of thought into the unconscious.

_Would he moan?_

Her brain, unbidden, projected the image of her own hand gripping those wires, knuckles white, wrist tensed. Then her mind automatically speculated on the sound of Genji’s voice, the fragments of memory of all of his training footage that she had watched and the sounds of his physical effort condensed into a guttural, shuddering _“Uhhn.”_ The eroticism of the hypothetical sound in her brain suddenly slammed her back to full conscious thought. She jerked upright in her seat and shook her head before giving her burning cheeks a flurry of light slaps.

_I am not thinking of my coworker moaning,_ she thought to herself herself, _I am not thinking about pulling Genji’s wires and him moaning. I am not thinking these things. I am awake. I am working._

She feverishly turned her attention back to the screen where the new biotic prototypes still drifted across the pink field of the cell culture. She pushed her keyboard aside and leaned forward, crossing her forearms over each other on the new cleared space and setting her head on top of them, still watching the lights drift.

“This is all _your_ fault, you know,” she muttered to the gold particles drifting across the screen before closing her eyes.

Her eyes opened again at the sound of the door opening.

“You know, aside from the custodian drones and the security outside, we’re pretty much the only ones awake in headquarters right now,” Genji’s voice sounded behind her, “Oh… or maybe just me?”

“I’m awake–” Mercy started, pushing back up into an upright position, not sure if she had actually drifted off or just entered another hazy half-sleep like she had when she had fixated upon the wires.

“Of course,” said Genji, leaning against the lab table next to her.

“I am–I–I was just resting my eyes,” said Mercy, brushing her hair back from her face. She really must have drifted off, even if it was only a minute or two–her movements didn’t seem to have the same tired clumsiness.

He just chuckled a little. “What were you dreaming about?” he asked.

_The wires,_ Mercy thought, looking at the red and black trailing out of the back of his head, but she shook her head. “Uhm–I didn’t exactly get a chance to dream,” she said with a huff.

“Liar,” the word came out of him lazily, teasingly.

“Excuse me?” she said but she gripped the armrests of her chair as he pushed away from the table and stepped closer to her.

“You heard me.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked up at his face. It was times like this that his faceplate was such a pain with so much of his expression masked, but there wasn’t malice in his eyes. All the same she said, “That’s rude.”

“I prefer ‘observant.’”

“Which doesn’t mean it’s not rude.”

“Mm,” he shrugged, “Better than ignoring an elephant in the room.”

“E-elephant?” Mercy wasn’t sure where the shake in her voice had come from.

“Do you think I don’t feel your eyes on me?” Genji stared down at her with that ninja focus, “Do you think I don’t see the way you bite your lip when you’re ‘observing’ my training sessions?”

“I don’t–I mean–when did you–”

“I told you: Observant,” he extended a hand toward her and her shoulders bunched up as his prosthetic knuckles slowly traced along her jawline, “You study, and study, and _study_ , and you tell yourself you’re just being thorough as a medical professional… but I bet reading my dossier made you blush.”

“Genji–” she started but her breath caught in her throat as he traced his metal thumb over her lower lip. She felt her face burning, her stomach fluttering.

“I would have liked to see that,” he murmured, “It’s a good look on you now.”

“You–this–It’s not funny,” she glanced down, but he kept his hand, gentle yet firm against her jaw as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Do you think I’m making fun of you?” his voice was low, reverberating with his cybernetic vocal chords as he slowly leaned in toward her, “Do you think it’s funny? For both flesh and metal to _ache_ for another person?”

Mercy’s eyes opened and she stared into the red glare of his eyes–except those red eyes didn’t seem to burn with simmering rage as she had seen them so often when he was tearing through training bots, nor did they have that alert steadiness of his eye contact when they chatted. In this moment, there was _wanting_ shining in them, bright and deep and so _tired_ , like distant red stars.

“Do you think I don’t ache, too?” her voice was soft but it seemed to stun him. He was perfectly still, that want in his eyes making the world seem to disappear all around her, save for the pink glow of her computer screen reflected on the metal of his faceplate.

Hesitantly, she brought her hands up to the catches at the sides of his faceplate. “Can I…?” her voice trailed off.

“Please,” his voice was husky as he stroked his free organic hand down her wrist, her forearm, brushing past her shoulder to grip the seat back of her chair, his prosthetic hand, pulling the wheeled swivel chair across the floor, pulling _her_ in close to him as he sank closer, “ _Please_ , Angela. It can only be you.”

Her fingers pressed at the catches until they clicked and he inhaled sharply with the as she pulled the faceplate away, revealing his own nose, mouth, scars, and cybernetic jawline. It was her turn, now, she cupped her hands at his cheeks tracing her fingers along his scars, until one finger trailed over a scar that intersected the line of his mouth, and that made something ignite in her. She stood up from the chair, all exhaustion in her body evaporated as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and brought her mouth to his. He met her, warmly, easily. His strong arms wrapped around her waist, supporting her, holding her tight. He tasted like metal but she loved it. She kissed him again and again. She shoved his blackwatch hoodie off of his organic shoulder to press her fingers into his scarred skin. His own fingers were raking desperately, trying to seek a hold in the cloth of her labcoat. 

“Angela…” He slipped her name between kisses, “Angela… Angela…”

_“Angela?”_

Something was shaking her shoulder. She could feel the joints of a familiar prosthetic through the cloth of her labcoat. But that couldn’t be right, Genji was…

Oh.

Oh no.

Mercy jolted awake, phlegm catching in her throat. She coughed and jerked her head up from its resting place on her forearms, blinking several times as light, _real_ light, flooded back into her vision. “Whuzz–what happened?” she said, sleep slurring her words as she rubbed her eyes.

“The machine was out of pretzels…?” said Genji, “So I headed to the other machine in the mess hall, and then I got back and…” he shrugged and gestured at her, “You were asleep.”

“Right–” Mercy became starkly aware that one of the sleeves of her labcoat now had a massive drool stain on it. Her eyes flicked down to the little bag of pretzels in Genji’s other hand, “Of course.”

“Are you okay?” Genji tilted his head, “You’re really red.”

Mercy laughed a little nervously before pushing her hair back and quickly pushing her keyboard back into place and typing. “I’m fine. I guess I was just rubbing my face into the labcoat too hard,” she quickly typed up several commands into the computer, setting up notifications on her comm that would alert her if there were any significant chemical changes detected in the cell-and-biotic-sample. She wouldn’t be here to observe them if they happened, but it wasn’t as if she could observe them if she was falling asleep, either. “But I think…” she said as she hit the ‘execute’ key on the computer, “The extra half hour probably isn’t as reasonable as we thought it was.”

“So my epic pretzel quest was for naught…” Genji spoke with a wistful faux-drama. 

Mercy snorted before getting up from her seat. “We can save them for next time,” she said, as she picked up her comm and tablet. 

“Think they’ll still be… floating like that when we get back here in the morning?” said Genji, glancing back at the pink screen as Mercy turned off the lights in the lab before they headed out.

“It will be very exciting if they are!” said Mercy, before laughing a little, “About as exciting as something being exactly the same can get.”

A short chuckle fell out of Genji as they walked down the empty, moonlit halls of Zurich headquarters before heading into the elevator–Mercy, heading to the ground level to head out to the parking structures, and Genji heading to his quarters in Blackwatch’s below-ground facilities. 

“This is my level…” said Mercy, as the elevator dinged. 

“Get home safe,” said Genji, “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Mercy smiled, before realizing she was holding the elevator door open with her hand and withdrew it before stepping away.

“And Angela?” Genji called after her.

“Mm?” She glanced over her shoulder.

“Sweet dreams,” he gave her a playful salute. 

Mercy was thankful the elevator doors shut on him before he could see how red those words made her. 


	10. WidowHanzo, First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is in the same continuity as my ["Two Broken weapons" ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28031580) ficlet.

Hanzo pushes through the door of the grubby little hotel room, his bag hanging on one shoulder. He isn’t as careful with quietly padding across the floor as he was their first few weeks on the run. Weeks plural–he’s still trying to wrap his mind around that. Some days seem so long, and it seems a miracle just to make it to the end of each one, others fall into an ouroboros loop of light and darkness wheeling rapidly overhead. But at this point her body is so weak that the instinct to be roused from sleep at any sound he could make is suppressed by her own exhaustion. Or maybe she trusts him at this point? He almost chuckles at the thought. She still talks about how she’s going to kill him, but she lets it drop as quickly as she brings it up with the sort of casualness you might get from a notification text on your phone. He zips open the bag to see the multiple biotic cartridges and vials, glowing yellow within the bag.

“I got you enough for the next few days,” he says, walking across the room, cramped with that almost comforting smell of tropical rot pressing in against the age-yellowed floral wallpaper. He pulls his hair from its ponytail and ruffles it slightly, trying to loosen the sweat and exhaust-smells of the streets outside that has embedded itself in the strands tied back flat against his scalp. He needs a shower. “But we can only stay one more night, if that–” 

He glances back at her sprawled across the bed, staring at the ceiling, completely unresponsive, and his stomach lurches as he steps over. “Hey–” One of her arms is strung limply over the side of the bed. Her eyes aren’t focused.

He knows the scent of death too well–he would have recognized it the second he opened the door–but her skin is beaded with sweat and her lips are cracked with dehydration and she’s only making the shallowest and quietest of breaths. “Amélie?” He shakes her shoulder a little. A groggy rasping noise ekes out of her throat and her chest convulses upward as if being pulled by an invisible string, her back arching as she drags in a rattling breath. He pulls his hand back in a flinch but her own ice-cold hand catches his wrist. Her sweat-shined eyelids curtain half of her eyes unevenly as her head lolls. She’s trying to will movement into her body at the sight of him. 

“Gérard…” her voice croaks and a chill runs down his spine, “Gérard, _tu es venu…_ ” 

“I’m not–” Hanzo starts.

 _“Je savais…je savais que tu viendrais pour moi…”_

“Amélie,” Hanzo sits down on the edge of the bed next to her, he brings his hand behind her back, supporting her, “I need you to focus on the sound of my voice. You’re delirious–”

“Why..?” a sound too weak to be a laugh shakes her voice, “Why are you speaking _english?_ ”

“You need water,” he pulls his wrist from her grip and brings both arms under her, scooping her up and carrying her to the equally grubby hotel room bathroom. She’s warm in his arms, and that scares him–she shouldn’t be this warm, not her, not after what Talon did to her. The words ‘Death warmed over’ come to his mind and he tries to fix his focus on gently lowering her into the bathtub, but she’s strung her arms around his neck.

“Don’t _leave_ me,” she whines.

“I’m right here–” he manages to say before ducking out of her arms. She slumps over the side of the bath without his weight under her. He wets a waschloth at the sink, cold water, and drops to one knee, carefully pushing her to a semi-upright position and tucking her hair away from her forehead before smoothing the wet washcloth over it. He turns on the bathtub spigot. Cold. Something, anything to snap her back to reality. her clothes are clinging wet and heavy to her.

“Gérard…” she sighs after him as he rushes out of the bathroom, seizes a biotic field canister and hurries back in, slamming the cylinder down on the floor and making it ripple out a glowing field of yellow. She takes a deep breath then, like some deep wincing pain is easing. He plops down on the floor himself, the exhaustion of a sudden rush of adrenaline after expending so much physical energy out on the streets outside now hitting him. He rakes a hand through his loose hair, the roar of the bathtub spigot bouncing off of the tile walls a relieving sound in its thunder.

“ _Emmène-moi d'ici,_ ” Widowmaker moans, her eyes closed to protect against the dripping water of the washcloth on her forehead, “Before they _hurt_ me again…” 

Hanzo pulls himself to his feet one more time, grabbing one of the brown plastic cups sitting next to the sink and filling it.

“They can’t hurt you, you’re safe,” says Hanzo. A half lie. He sits back down next to the tub and supporting Widowmaker’s head with one hand while putting the rim of the cup to her lip with the other, “Drink.”

“Mm–” She manages to get a few gulps in before clumsily pushing the glass away with the back of her hand with an uncharacteristically dense swallowing sound and exhale. Those yellow eyes stare into him, but they seem to be staring past him. Something ripples across her face and her mouth twists up, “I’m so _sorry_ ,” her voice cracks into sobs, it sounds alien, it sounds wrong after so long hearing her words so flat and clipped, “They made me say horrible things, Gérard.” Even with her movements so slowed by weakness, the sobs bunched up her shoulders, “And I–I had to _say_ it–but I didn’t mean it–I didn’t _mean_ it—I would never… never…”

“Amélie, I’m not–” he starts but her head suddenly lolls up and she presses her mouth against his. She has the sour taste of sleep on her tongue. He freezes, his entire body tensing as if it has just received an electric shock. The cup in his hand drops to the tile floor, sending water spilling across it. A droplet of water from her washcloth trickles down his temple. Her blue-tipped fingers brush through his loose hair. _She’s not well,_ he thinks, _This is wrong._ But he doesn’t stop her. A part of him reasons that maybe it’s kinder–at the most, this is all a dream for her, and it would be easier for all involved for her to just ride this out into oblivion. Another part of him is burning. How long has it been since someone touched him? Since someone looked at him like she looks at this delusion? She pulls away and blinks several times, her brow furrowing. “Ugh…” she presses her fingertips to the wet cloth on her forehead.”Something’s… something’s wrong…” she murmurs.

“Coming back to the land of the liv–?” Hanzo starts to quip before she vomits on him and passes out.

——

Hours pass when Widowmaker’s eyes blearily open and she finds herself in the bed, wearing the thin hotel bathrobe with wet hair. She’s lying on her side. 

“Night…?” Widowmaker squints outside the hotel room window, “When… I–I only just closed my eyes. How long have you been here?”

“I got back a few hours ago. You were… semi-conscious, delirious, and burning with fever,–at least, burning for _you_ ,” Hanzo is fiddling with one of his sonar arrows in an armchair opposite her. 

“Delirious,” she repeats with a huff, “Please tell me I didn’t make a fool of myself.”

Hanzo gives a dismissive hand wave. “You muttered some things in French. Even if it was something foolish, it was nothing I could understand.” 

Widowmaker huffs and curls up on the bed a little. “Good.” 

“Mm-hmm,” Hanzo keeps his eyes fixed on the arrow. Just focus on the arrow. 


	11. Meihem, "True Love Kiss"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't really sure what constituted a "true love kiss" here but this was the prompt so I went for it. Also I wrote this while zonked out on the second dose of the covid vaccine so... in a way... you're reading history.

They sat next to each other, Junkrat in an almost child-like cross-legged position, and Mei hugging one knee close to herself, watching as the factory burned in the distance.

“Snow Pea?”

“Mm?”

“You aren’t... mad at me, are you?”

“Um,” Mei adjusted her glasses slightly, “I’m... still processing.”

“I really didn’t _mean_ to blow it up--” Junkrat started and Mei gave him an incredulous look, “I’m serious!”

“Jamison...” Mei started, trailing off.

“I _know_ the mission was just to shut it down! And I tried! believe me, I did! Things just...” his voice dropped a little, “Escalated.”

Mei heard the creak of his prosthetic knuckles tightening with his grip on his ankle as he stared at the flaming factory. 

“You really mean it, don’t you?” she said, quietly.

“‘Course I _mean_ it,” Junkrat said quietly, “...I’m starting to get the feeling people only put me on missions _because_ they need something obliterated.”

“It,” Mei chuckled, “ _Is_ sort of your thing.”

“Well yeah but... Jamison Fawkes is _more_ than a one-trick pony, you believe that, right Frostee-Freez?”

“You have--er-- many admirable qualities!” Mei offered, not really sure what to say.

“Like what?” Junkrat said quietly.

Mei hesitated for a few seconds.

“I--I’m not asking you to butter me up or anything! I just---I really did try, this time,” Junkrat glanced off, rubbing the back of his neck, “Tried to be... an Overwatch _agent_ , y’know? Like toaster-face grandpa or Death-From-Above, or the perky arsed can-opener.”

“Jack, Pharah, and Genji?” Mei quirked an eyebrow.

“Right! Them!” said Junkrat, “Everyone takes _them_ all serious, but me...?” he trailed off a little, “I mean, I don’t blame them--things... get foggy for me, and they speed up and they slow down and then by the time I can make _sense_ of anything, at least three things are on fire.” He huffed, “So... I guess they’re right to just... see me as shit-hitting-the-fan blow-it-all-to-hell guy but...it still... I mean I watch you and how much you care and it makes me want to...” he scoffed and shook his head, “You don’t need this. Just forget I said anyth--”

“You’re brilliant,” the words bubbled up out of Mei and Junkrat looked at her with genuine shock and incomprehension for a few seconds before Mei swallowed hard and looked up into his eyes. “You see things no one else sees, you--you _take_ things in and you spin them around and you spit them out in a way that can turn any situation around--and when.. when nothing makes sense, when everything’s falling apart, the one person who seems to be able to push through it is you. You can just... “ she made a pressing together motion with her hands, her fingers crooked and clawing, “ _Condense_ everything and barrel forward.”

“Well.. yeah but... that’s all just instinct,” said Junkrat, looking back at the factory fire, “Like, any of the... agents who actually had their shit together in my situation... they’d do better shit! They’d like... create clean water with like... the-the hyperpornics!”

“Hydroponics.”

“Yeah, that! Y’know, _something!_ They’re all that Overwatchy ‘better world’ shit.”

“But you know the world at its worst,” said Mei, “You grew up in the world at its worst. And you know how to survive it.”

“Well obviously,” said Junkrat, “We wouldn’t be talking, otherwise.”

Mei gave a short snort.

“But y’know you...” Junkrat looked at her and then trailed off, “You survived too. Except it wasn’t people blowing themselves to shit like with me... it was people being forgotten.... everything ending in the cold and the nothingness because people didn’t give a shit. And... and you pulled out. You _built things_ and you pulled out! And... I want that. I want to be like that. The idea of being more than a scorch mark on this world--that--that I lived, and I struggled, and I tried, and I _gave a shit._ ” He huffed. “That’s what terrifies me about you, Snowpuff! I didn’t give a shit about so much shit! And now I give _so many_ shits about different shits and it drives me crazier than I was before!” his arm flung out in the direction of the burning factory, “Do you _know_ how many chemical particulates that fire is throwing up into the air right now!? Do you _know_ how many penguins that shit is probably killing!? I’m asking because I don’t, but I assume it’s at least several!”

“You... you read that paper I sent around about the aerial chemical particulates?” Mei said quietly.

“‘Course I did! I mean, I had to read like... five other stupid things to understand it, and I needed a dictionary for a bunch of stuff, and I fell asleep three times--But look, you’re not listening. The penguins--”

Mei tackled him in a kiss. She wasn’t sure if it was the shock of the gesture that made Junkrat more or less go limp or her own enthusiasm that made him smack against the ground with her force, but she didn’t care. 

“Mm--!” his lanky leg and peg leg scrambled against the ground as she caught herself and broke away, inches from his face, her breath huffing against his mouth. He propped himself up on the elbow of his prosthetic arm, her weight still bearing on him, but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were staring at her, staring into her, searching, and at the same time there was a heartbreaking confusion in his expression.

“Uh...inhale too much smoke, there?” Junkrat said, a little dazed. 

“M-maybe,” Mei said. She nearly moved to get off of him, but paused as she felt his organic hand tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“...I... have also inhaled a lot of smoke,” Junkrat said slowly, “Probably.”

“...probably,” said Mei before letting herself collapse onto him, his head jerked up to meet her, his lips closing on hers and his body flinching tight in an embrace around her. Tight, and loving, and terrified and sweet. The white-knuckled instinct and affection of survivors who had just found supplies caches and would be damned before they let them go.

And all the while the factory burned in the distance.


End file.
